The Foundation: A TV Mini-Series

Isaac Asimov's The Foundation trilogy is perhaps the most famous science-fiction series of all time. For a project I was assigned, I was to assume the role of a sought-after movie scriptwriter drafting the first episode of a TV Mini-Series based on The Foundation. This was my result. I got a good grade on it from my teacher, and she suggested I submit it to our school's literary magazine. I thought I'd try to get a few comments here first. I've posted Scene 1 first, and if I receive any interest in it I'll post the other few scenes as well. All suggestions will be welcomed, and I hope any fellow Asimov fans out there will enjoy reading it. :)


SCENE 1: Trantor

(Begins with view of inside of futuristic spaceship. Gaal is watching a hyper-video in his seat.)

HV Narrator: (smiling politely, slightly synthetic-sounding voice) The planet of Trantor, located in the central regions of the Galaxy, has often been described as being the densest and richest clot of humanity in the universe. For unbroken hundreds of generations, it has been the center of the Imperial Government, and this has resulted in its gradual urbanization. Today, the urbanization has reached its ultimate, as the entire land surface of Trantor, approximately seventy-five million square miles, is a single city, with a population in excess of forty billions. Although Trantor seems strong in overall appearance, its one flaw is its dependence on the outer words for food and other necessities of life...

Gaal: (Turns off hyper-video. Looks around, appearing impatient and excited. Speaking to pilot in faint foreign accent) Excuse me, sir?

Pilot: Yes?

Gaal: It is possible for me to see Trantor?

Pilot: We’ll be landing in a few hours.

Gaal: No, I mean... from Space.

Pilot: (smiles) You’re from the provinces, aren’t ya, kid?

Gaal: (embarrassed) Yes, sir, from Synnax.

Pilot: Ah, I though I detected a hint of Synnish in your voice. You province-dwellers don’t do much traveling, is that right?

Gaal: Yes, sir, this is my first Space-trip.

Pilot: Then you’re in for an experience indeed. Sorry, kid, but we’re sunside of Trantor currently, and to open the viewing windows now would leave you permanently blinded, burnt, and radiation-scarred. Trantor would only be a gray blur anyway. But you should take a Space-tour once we land, they’re cheap.

Gaal: (disappointed) Thank you.

(Later spaceship lands on Trantor in a series of hissing, droning, and rumbling sounds. The ship’s passengers collect their baggage and follow a ramp off the ship, where their visas are quickly inspected and stamped.)

Gaal: (Gazes around in awe. His trance is broken when a man bumps into him. He speaks to the man) Excuse me? Which way to the taxis?

Man: (distractedly) To the right and third left.

Gaal: Thank you. (Makes his way to the taxis and climbs into one.)

Driver: (gruffly) Where to?

Gaal: (hesitates) A good hotel, please.

Driver: They’re all good. Name one.

Gaal: (nervously) The nearest one, please.

Driver: (Presses a button, taxi rises from ground and flies away quickly. Steers toward a giant wall riddled with small holes, enters one. For a moment there is blackness, then light returns and the taxi returns to the ground.) The Luxor Hotel. One point twelve credits.

Gaal: (Pays driver, leaves taxi, and enters hotel.) Thank you.

Driver: (rolls eyes, mumbling to self) Province-dwellers. (flies taxi away)

Gaal: (Approaches reception desk.) Where can I buy a ticket for a planetary tour?

Receptionist: Right here. Our earliest available are for tomorrow afternoon. How many’d you like?

Gaal: (disappointed) Oh... No, thank you, tomorrow is too late. There wouldn’t be an observation tower or something of the sort? I mean, in the open air.

Receptionist: Sure, I’ll sell you a ticket for that if you want. Better let me check if it’s raining or not. (reads from computer screen) Good weather. Come to think of it, I do believe it’s the dry season now. (conversationally) I don’t bother with the outside myself. The last time I was in the open air was three years ago. You see it once, you know, and that’s all there is to it.

Gaal: (hands money to receptionist)

Receptionist: Here’s your ticket, then. There’s a special elevator in the rear marked ‘To the Tower.’ Just take it to the top. Enjoy your visit!

Gaal: Thank you. (Goes to elevator, enters along with several others.)

(Door closes. Elevator accelerates then quickly decelerates.)

Gaal: (Yelps as feet leave the floor, tries unsuccessfully to get down.)

Jarril: (pulls Gaal down) You’re supposed to do what the sign says, kid, tuck your feet under the railing.

Gaal: (obeys, looking embarrassed)

(Elevator stops, doors open.)

Gaal: Thank you.

Jarril: (smiling) Don’t mention it.

Gaal: (walks to railing and gazes out mystified at Trantor)

(The ground is completely covered by man-made structures. The metal buildings form the only horizon to be seen. There is little visible movement, other than a few large, slow-moving spaceships. Everything in sight is a uniform gray.)

Jarril: (good-naturedly) First time on Trantor, I take it? I’m Jarril, by the way.

Gaal: My name’s Gaal. Yes, it’s my first time anywhere, actually, other than my home planet Synnax.

Jarril: I see. I could tell you were a province-dweller. Most Trantorians never come up here, you know. It gives them the nerves. What do you think of it?

Gaal: It’s glorious! Why should it give them the nerves?

Jarril: Subjective matter of opinion, Gaal. If you were like them, born in a cubicle and raised in a corridor, working in a cell and vacationing in a crowded room bathed in artificial sunlight, you might feel the same way. Coming up into the open with nothing but sky over them is such an unfamiliar sensation it gives them nervous breakdowns. They make the children come up here once a year after they’re five, but I don’t think such a small amount of exposure does them any good. They ought to be up here at least once a week from the moment they’re weaned. (sighs) But I supposed it wouldn’t really matter, anyway. They’re happy down there. What do you think of it all?

Gaal: (dazedly) Glorious.

Jarril: You here on vacation?

Gaal: Not exactly. I’ve always wanted to visit Trantor, but I’m here today primarily for a job.

Jarril: Oh?

Gaal: (hesitates) With Dr. Seldon’s project at the University of Trantor.

Jarril: Raven Seldon?

Gaal: Yes, I believe so. I’ve never understood why people call him that, though...

Jarril: (surprised) Why, you must have heard of his theories. He predicts nothing but disaster for the future of the universe. Surely you must know. You’re coming to work for him, aren’t you?

Gaal: Well, yes, I’m a mathematician. What kind of disaster does he predict?

Jarril: What kind would you think?

Gaal: I’m afraid I haven’t the least idea. I’ve read the papers Dr. Seldon and his group have published. They’re on mathematical theory.

Jarril: Yes, the ones they publish are.

Gaal: (suddenly annoyed) I think I’ll go to my room now. Very pleased to have met you.

Jarril: (waves cheerfully)

Gaal: (Rides elevator down, goes to hotel room to find a man waiting for him there.) What are you doing here?

Seldon: (Old, bald man with a limp and bright blue eyes) I am Hari Seldon.